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44 books on 44 presidents: The Accidental Commander-in-chief

Editor's note: This is the tenth entry in the writer's year-long project to read one book about each of the U.S. Presidents by Election Day 2016. You can also follow Marcus' progress at the @44in52 Twitter account and with this 44 in 52 Spreadsheet.

To be honest, I'm not sure where to start with John Tyler. Which is probably exactly how then-Vice President Tyler felt on the morning of April 2, 1841 when he was informed of the death of President William Henry Harrison.

No one knew what would happen when Harrison died just a month into office; a president had never died in office before. What kind of president would a man who had been Veep for exactly one month be?

What America got was a stubborn guy who abandoned his own party, married a woman three decades younger while in office (public opinion be damned), and ended his career as a member of the Congress of the Confederacy from Virginia, voting for that state's secession from the Union in 1861.

But he was also a guy who set the precedent for presidential succession and oversaw the annexation of Texas — though he didn't exactly get the Senate's approval.

But I came away from Tyler feeling pretty non-plussed about the guy. His Confederacy vote was the most intriguing moment to me, and that came after his time in the White House.

Tyler also marked the first time in this insane project when I dipped into the American Presidents Series, a collection of biographies about each president originated and edited by legendary historian Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr. until his death (it is now headed by Sean Wilentz). They are, mercifully, short: the Tyler biography comes in at just over 150 pages.

The writers of these bios come from a variety of backgrounds and include some famous names — including Douglas Brinkley (Gerald Ford) and former U.S. Senator Gary Hart (Monroe). Historian Gary May does a terrific job making Tyler as interesting as one can. But even May notes that the 24 year stretch between Jackson and Lincoln — a string of eight straight one-term-or-less presidents — was terribly, terribly dull.

Some of the funnest moments of the bio concern the vitriol directed at Tyler. Elected on a Whig ticket, he blew off both parties in favor of doing whatever the hell he wanted (which is actually kind of admirable, in a way, given the lack of "YOLO" attitude among most presidents).

For his troubles, he was the first president ever to be burned in effigy.

In an era when we put so much emphasis on party identity in politics — remember the fuss over whether or not Trump would sign that GOP pledge? — Tyler stands out precisely because he didn't give a damn what his party wanted.

As a Democratic U.S. Senator during Jackson's presidency, he sided with South Carolina — and against Jackson, the leader of his party — during the nullification drama, which is when the state tried to declare federal laws null and void within its borders. He also opposed Jackson's attempts to use military force to keep South Carolina in the union.

Later, when the Democrat-led House of Delegates in Tyler's home state of Virginia ordered Tyler to vote to expunge the censure of Jackson (which was the president's punishment for withholding key documents during the Bank Wars), Tyler resigned his seat rather than vote for something he found unconstitutional.

His attitude didn't change when he switched sides and became a Whig. During his own presidency, he chose to veto the Whig attempt to charter a Second Bank of the United States. His increasing use of vetoes made Tyler the target of the first impeachment attempt in United States history, led by fellow Whigs (the attempt failed).

It's incredible that Tyler thought he had any chance of support for reelection, as shown by the fact that he saw the annexation of Texas as a major cornerstone of his platform. Not even the USS Princeton tragedy, where an accident during a gun demonstration killed pro-Texas cabinet members Secretary of State Abel Upshur and Secretary of Navy Thomas Gilmer, could dissuade Tyler from the course of annexation.

Tyler's persistence paid off, in a way. Though his candidacy failed, his pro-Texas position was taken up by the party — and derailed a comeback attempt by former President Martin Van Buren, who feared what admitting Texas would do to the national slavery argument.

Van Buren was right. Debate began to simmer over whether or not to extend slavery to new territories in the West. That's something Tyler's successor, James K. Polk, would deal with — and it meant that Tyler had more to do with making the Civil War happen than just voting for secession in later life.

Tyler's stubborn nature is also what we have to thank for our current plan of presidential succession. His strict reading of the Constitution — specifically Article 2, Section 1 — led him to assert that he fully became president, not simply assuming presidential powers while remaining Vice President, when Harrison died. Though he took the president's oath of office, he thought it redundant given the oath he had taken as vice president.

It took over 125 years for the rules of presidential succession to be clarified and ratified as the 25th amendment, but Tyler's precedence is still at the root of that law.

Ultimately, that is the best thing I can take away from Tyler: Even this inconsequential one-term president was able to leave his mark on history.

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